


Why Won’t You Kill Me?

by RayOfSunshine25



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Whump, ill add more tags later, lets go with this for now, not as much comfort than hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27294712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayOfSunshine25/pseuds/RayOfSunshine25
Summary: The flood of water descended upon the cobble streets without mercy. Each gust of wind snuffed out every candle in the kingdom, shrouding the land in darkness. As the seconds passed the storm only grew in its rage, roaring and snarling at anyone daring to face it.One dared.A figure, silhouetted whenever a tremendous crack of lightning whipped the air, ran alongside the great castle, black cloak billowing behind him. He seemed to be running without direction or care, dark boots slapping the rapidly growing puddles as he passed. Blindly he stumbled, and he would’ve gotten lost had he not known the area like the back of his very own hand.The storm outside was only a fraction of the one swirling inside his mind.~~~George is a prince who must become king.Dream has a duty to kill him.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Why Won’t You Kill Me?

The flood of water descended upon the cobble streets without mercy. Each gust of wind snuffed out every candle in the kingdom, shrouding the land in darkness. As the seconds passed the storm only grew in its rage, roaring and snarling at anyone daring to face it. 

One dared. 

A figure, silhouetted whenever a tremendous crack of lightning whipped the air, ran alongside the great castle, black cloak billowing behind him. He seemed to be running without direction or care, dark boots slapping the rapidly growing puddles as he passed. Blindly he stumbled, and he would’ve gotten lost had he not known the area like the back of his very own hand. 

The storm outside was only a fraction of the one swirling inside his mind. 

Rain slicked the stones that paved the street, and it wasn’t long before his foot caught in a crevice and he slipped, boot scraping the wet ground and disturbing the chaotic rhythm of the earth’s elements. 

Collapsed on his hands and knees, the figure stilled for just a moment as he bowed his head. The wind picked up around him and his hair billowed ferociously. A flash of lighting pierced the air; the boom that instantly followed shook the land to its core. 

He huffed a breath and stood, oblivious to the stinging in his hands. The small trickle of blood that dripped from his finger was diluted into water by the time it hit the ground. He began again, this time at a brisker pace. 

The wind and water raced around him, but it never stopped him. It wasn’t long before he had arrived.

The soaked dock in front of him stood over a small lake. The drops of rain created ripples, which only resulted in creating waves that rose up and reached for the wooden supports, before collapsing down again. The figure walked over to the edge, staring out into nothingness, feeling everything. His tears fell into the waves, lost forever. The wind picked up. His cloak was soaked through, only serving as an extra weight on his shoulders, but he didn’t take it off. He was cold, but he wasn’t shivering. 

He felt the burden of death, and yet he was still living. Why? 

~~~

The grand door opened with a groan, and a boy- considered to be a man at just 17- walked in. A dark mop of hair was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes were downcast. In front of him was his father’s office, where the walls were orange from the light of the fireplace on the left. To the right were two large windows, where the rain pelted the glass, demanding to be let in. Lightning struck and thunder rolled. 

The boy walked over to the crackling logs that crippled and burned under the fire, holding out his hands to warm them. His teeth chattered, and he felt the urge to curl up at the hearth and bask his shoulders and legs in the wonderful warmth. Instead, he shivered as water dripped from his hair and onto his neck and shoulders, sending ice through his veins. He stood there for a few minutes, staring at the mesmerizing dance of the flames. 

His peace was disturbed when he heard low voices in the hallway. The great door opened and his father, along with the chamberlain, entered. His father hesitated when he saw the boy standing there, but hardly long enough for anyone to notice. 

Silently, the pair walked over to the desk behind the boy, who maintained his gaze at the fire. The boy heard murmurs as the two adults spoke, but he wasn’t interested in eavesdropping. The wind howled outside. 

It was quiet for a long time. 

The door peeked open a second time, and in came the newly appointed Royal Equerry. The boy didn’t know what to make of the guy, but he honestly had no intentions of getting to know him, too caught up within himself. 

The equerry wandered around the desk and drifted over to the boy’s side. He didn’t say anything right away, just stood with him. When the boy turned his head to face him, he saw the fire reflected in the man’s soft brown eyes, which matched his straight hair that settled just above his eyebrows. The man faced him too, before looking down at the younger’s hands, which prompted him to raise an eyebrow. 

“What’s that from?” He asked quietly, smoothly folding his arms over his chest. 

The boy looked down at his own hands, shrugging. He didn’t feel like talking. 

The guy held out his hands and motioned for his. “May I?”

The boy nodded. Lightning flashed and the man flinched. The boy smiled ever so slightly. He liked the rain.

The equerry took his hands and inspected the white bandages that had been haphazardly wrapped around his palms. “George, is it?” The man asked, testing the word, as if anyone could forget the name of the prince. He hummed. “Let’s take care of this.” 

The boy, George, nodded again. The man turned to leave and waited for him at the great doors. George followed. He didn’t wait for his father to wish him a good night. 

Walking out into the long hall that stemmed from the kitchen and dining hall to the servants’ quarters, George found himself without anything to say. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem seeing as he preferred to spend most of his time alone, but at this moment walking alongside this stranger, he felt like he _should_ say something, as if it were his duty. Thankfully, the guy beside him relieved him of that burden. 

“I’m new, so you probably don’t know who I am,” he said, awkwardly bowing mid-stride as he introduced himself. “I’m Bad.”

George scrunched his nose. Did this guy have a terrible self image or something? He knew it might seem rude to ask, but he couldn’t stop the words as they fell from his lips. “Why are you bad?” 

‘Bad’ laughed briefly, although it morphed into an amused sort of hum. “I apologize for the confusion, your royal highness, Bad is just my name.”

George waved off the formality with a firm hand. “Please, none of the whole “highness” shit right now. I don’t really wanna hear it.”

If Bad was surprised by the response he didn’t show it, other than a muttered, “language,” but it may have been due to the fact that the only illumination in the long hall was the occasional lantern that they would pass by, covering their faces in a warm glow until they crossed the realm of its light, in which a shadow would shield their features. 

“So, Bad,” George started, feeling the name on his tongue. “Did your mom take one look at you and the name was decided?”

Bad let out a surprised but humored gasp, whispering underneath his breath about… muffins? “No, not at all.” Bad paused. Shrugged. Scratched the back of his head. “At least, it wasn’t my mom.”

George, admittedly, only felt a little bad for laughing. “Who then?” 

Bad looked embarrassed, but he shrugged again and smiled. “My... dad, I suppose. I don’t know, I’ve never thought too much about it. My peers would sometimes make fun of it, seeing as I’m not that great of a fighter.”

Well now George felt a lot bad for laughing. “What? That’s kind of ridiculous. And you just let them disgrace your name like that?”

“I mean, yeah. I like my name. I think it kinda has a nice ring to it, don’t you? Besides, they were right about it all. I guess I just never let my inability to fight stop me, and look where I am now.”

George did look, and found himself in the same palace he’d lived in all his life, everything feeling bland and tasteless at this point. The ceilings felt just a little bit short, the doors more looming as they passed them, and the passageway more hollow. “Yeah,” he said to himself. “Look at that.” 

Bad was quiet for a spell, most likely appreciating the architectural mastery of the smooth wood pillars that flashed intricate scroll designs made of a darker wood, or maybe of the grand arches that lined the mossy cobblestone ceilings. George sighed, both in mourning of his own eroded perception of his home and grateful that at least Bad was able to enjoy it. 

After another moment of silence he felt a hand on his shoulder and was directed by Bad to the infirmary to their left. “How’d you hurt yourself, anyway?” 

In all honesty, George had completely forgotten about the state of his hands, but the reminder of his slip up earlier made them sting bitterly. 

Whether George was too tired to care or he actually trusted Bad enough to tell him (or both), it didn’t matter, because he was already talking as they walked into the dark room. “Got caught up in the storm. Tripped.” 

Bad nodded his head understandably and picked up a candle from a stool, opening a lantern to expose the flame inside and allowing it to jump to the wick in his hands. With the extra light, a row of beds along the wall was revealed. Bad told him to unwrap the spoiled bandages from his hands and wrists, all the while lifting the trapdoor in the middle of the room to get to the medicinal cellar. 

While Bad was out of sight, George took his time to sit down on a bed and remove the fabric, cringing at the splotches of dried blood on his skin. It felt… wrong. So, so terrible and wrong. He didn’t know how to describe it. Of course George had gotten himself hurt before as a child, but this was different. If ever he got hurt he was assured that the pain was only temporary. And it never _itched_ this bad before. God, why did it itch? The sensation seemed to seep into the open cuts and through his veins, pumping to and gripping his heart. He opened his mouth, speechless, as if he had someone there to talk to, as if he had something to actually say. There was nothing to say. 

He had blood on his hands, and there was nothing to say.

Ashamed, he shook his head and pressed the back of his wrists into his eyes with his elbows resting on his knees. He stayed this way until he heard his companion humming as he exited the cellar and had shut the trapdoor with a small clang. Looking up, he was faced with a gentle smile and two glass vials; the first containing a mix of a golden and amber substance and the second holding what he assumed was a red liquid. He’d seen the latter before, but only on the rare occasion that health potions like this one were actually needed and likewise available. The first vial, however, was completely unfamiliar. 

At George’s questioning glance, Bad chuckled and referred to the golden bottle, which was placed on the stool next to the bed, simply saying the word, “Honey.”

Bad uncorked the red potion and pulled a small cloth towel from a satchel attached to his belt, on which he poured a few droplets of the precious liquid. “Hands?”

George held them out obediently, preparing for the slight sting that he knew would come from applying this particular potion to an open wound. Bad took the back of one of the prince’s hands in his own palm and began dabbing the towel over the numerous cuts. George was pleasantly surprised at the significant lack of pain whenever Bad pressed down, and simply sat still as his friend worked, secretly enjoying the feeling of his hand in someone else’s. He only moved when Bad moved on to his other hand. 

When he was done, Bad held the red vial in front of George’s face. “If you want, you can have a few sips. I heard the taste is heavenly.”

George smiled slightly, knowing perfectly well how much like heaven it tasted. “Sure, if only you get to try some.”

Bad tilted his head. “Why? I’m not hurt, silly.” 

“I know, but I think you should at least try it.” George took the vial from Bad and took a small drink, humming to himself. “You’re right, it tastes just wonderful.” 

“Yeah, right.”

“It tastes like…” George thought hard. With his limited knowledge of his friend, he could only think of one thing that could possibly seem appealing. “Like muffins.”

Bad’s eyes widened with interest, and George smirked, now holding the drink out in front of his equerry’s face. 

He hesitated but caved anyway. “May I?”

George simply held the bottle closer. 

His excitement was palpable as his hands reached out to take it, and timidly he took a sip. 

He was quiet for a beat. Until, “Oh my goodness.”

George laughed. “What is it?”

“This doesn’t taste like muffins.” 

At this George laughed louder, which caused Bad to join in, and it was a tiny, glorious moment in which the two boys were able to bask in their happiness.

“You- you muffinhead.”

“Why do you say that?”

Bad shook his head, setting down the health potion and retrieving the honey. “It’s just something I say, I guess.”

George nodded, a smile still stuck on his lips. “And the honey? What’s that for?”

“It’s supposed to soothe scrapes or cuts, and it’ll help the bandages stay in place when I reapply them.” 

“Ah.”

Bad made eye contact with him. “It smells nice too.”

The prince bowed his head and stuck out his palms. “Well then of course. Cleanse my hands of their impure filth, I beg of you.”

Bad looked uncomfortable but also amused at the exaggerated formality. “You’re not supposed to bow to me, you know that right?” 

George looked up and shrugged, indifferent. At the other’s silence, Bad scooped some of the honey onto his finger and, just like before, gently applied the substance. As he worked, George felt the terrible itchy sensation flowing through his blood begin to ebb away. Not gone completely, but dulled.

“Thank you,” George said as Bad finished putting away the vials and wrapping up his palms and wrists in fresh cloth. 

“It was my duty and pleasure.”

George rolled his eyes at him. Bad smiled playfully as he took the candle and blew it out, setting it back on the stool and following George back out into the hallway. 

“To your chambers?”

“Yes, please.”

“And you’d like me to take you there?”

George initially wanted to say no, he wouldn’t want to be taken to his room, he was perfectly capable of doing so himself, but he ultimately didn’t want to be alone. Not anymore. “If you would.”

“Of course.”

It was silent the rest of the way, but at least Bad was there. It wasn’t long before the two of them stood before a particularly fancy door that George knew to be his own. 

Bad turned to him and bowed again, which earned him a quirked eyebrow. Straightening, Bad gave George a gentle smile. “Sleep well, um, George.”

George returned the smile, and found himself asking, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, and with that he turned and George watched him make his way down the hall, his shadow walking alongside him on the wall. 

George sighed, entering his room. It baffled him how easily he had been distracted while talking to Bad. After everything that had happened that night, it was a huge relief to have someone around his age to talk to. He stood a couple feet away from his bed when he sensed immense exhaustion come over him. For now, he wanted nothing more than to lay down on his soft mattress and lose himself to oblivion. 

~~~

Word spread amongst the kingdom’s people and even further beyond, a wildfire that refused to yield as it wafted across valleys, mountains, and deep sea ravines. In no time the entire nation had heard word that the Queen of Oneiro had died. 

It wasn’t apparent right away how much had changed.

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha so I have no clue how far I’ll go into this. Please comment incessantly if I don’t update in the next 2 or so weeks. Bother me, please. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.


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